


Angel of the Morning

by Jaysop



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Back rubs, Caretaking, Emetophilia, Fever, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Sick!Hannibal, Sickfic, Vomiting, caring!Abigail, emeto, shameless self indulgent sickfic, the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12385911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaysop/pseuds/Jaysop
Summary: Abigail takes care of Hannibal when he falls ill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a /long/ while so this started as a way to get back into it, to shake off the cobwebs and start writing again. 
> 
> I wanted to write about Abigail's codependent relationship with Hannibal, and I think it needs to be clarified that I wanted that relationship to be completely non-sexual but at the same time extremely intimate. I also wanted to do something where each chapter is written from a different character's perspective.

_“You have reached the voicemail of Will Graham. Leave a message."_

The all too familiar tone sounded and Abby let her phone drop to the floor.

“He’s not answering.”

She was talking to herself at this point. Hannibal moaned as if in response but she knew better. Over the course of the last few hours he had crept halfway into her lap, burning hot and shivering. Fever raged through him, the heat of his skin seeping through her clothes, murmurs of nonsense muffled in the fabric of her dress.

They had been on the floor for hours. It was the only place Hannibal seemed to be comfortable.

She had been solidly against the idea at first but soon relented when she realized she wasn't nearly strong enough to move him. Not when he didn't want to be moved anyway. Before Hannibal had lapsed into feverish delirium he had said something about needing to feel "grounded."

 It didn't make any sense to her then either. She had tried to reason with him, to persuade him to at least lie on the couch but it was too late for that. He drifted in and out of consciousness and Abigail resigned herself to the long night.    

She shifted her weight to her opposite hip and felt the sting of pins and needles shoot down her calf and into her foot. She bit the insides of her cheeks and let out a little hiss. Hannibal stirred, his breath coming in labored gasps. He curled around her with a moan, a hand grasping at her waist.

“Shh, its ok, I’m here.”

Dust motes hung in the beam of light that spilled through the living room curtains. The sun was coming up. The blanket that Abigail had brought with them had been kicked away. She managed to grab the edge of it and pull it back over Hannibal who shivered and moaned in protest.

“I know, I know,” she cooed, pulling the blanket around trembling shoulders. With the edge of her sleeve she dabbed at his temples, pushing wet strands of hair off his forehead. She closed her eyes in the near dark and rubbed his back through the blanket.

It seemed to be soothing him enough that his breathing started to quiet. Slowly she trailed fingertips up and down his spine, only able to reach a portion of his broad back. This had been the ritual of the last several hours, a secret spell that Abby had mastered. She let her hand linger there, palm flat.

Her own exhaustion started to set in and pull her under. She had managed to catch brief moments of sleep in between the bouts of sickness but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t bother trying to keep her eyes open anymore. For a moment she nodded and let her mind drift.

“Mmf…Abby…”

The sound of her name pulled her back to life and she bolted up.

“Hannibal, what's wrong?"

In a rare moment of lucidity Hannibal had propped himself up on one arm. His eyes were open and they had a look of urgency in them. Abby had been through this enough tonight to know what it meant. She grabbed the large mixing bowl that she had brought from the kitchen and positioned it under his chin.

He struggled to remain upright as his arm shook under his own weight. Weakly he leaned over the bowl. A long line of saliva spilled from parted lips, parched and dry from fever. His back convulsed as he gagged. Abigail caught him as he stumbled, his strength giving way to his sickness.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, “It’s alright.”

Violent heaves racked his entire body; every ounce of strength he had left squeezed sore muscles tight. A small dribble of vomit splished into the bowl.

Abby held him up as best she could. He heaved again and they both tipped forward, Abigail bracing herself against his dead weight.

“That’s it, get it all out,” she soothed as he coughed and sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of watery vomit. It hung in dangling strands from his lips when he finished.

Breath ragged, he collapsed back against her. She gathered him up in her arms and held him, rocking gently.

“It’s ok, I’m here.”

She whispered the words into his hair, cradling him there on the floor. He was shaking again but somehow it felt different. As she pushed the hair from his eyes she could see he was crying, softly sobbing into the folds of her dress.

“Oh Hannibal…”

For the first time all night Abigail was at a loss of what to do. She wiped at his face with the edge of her dress, speaking shushes to him, trying her best to console him. He clung loosely to her, tears soaking through her clothing. She pulled the blanket back around him and held him, trying to quiet him.

“Abby…it hurts…”

They were the first words he had spoken in hours. Perhaps the fever was breaking, she thought, even though the heat radiating off him told her otherwise.

“I know,” she soothed, “but it'll be over soon. Just rest."

She rubbed his back and he leaned into her, head heavy in her lap. He coughed a few times, throat feeling sore and abused, ending abruptly with a gag against her arm.

Abigail took a deep determined breath and steadied her nerves. Will was not going to come to the rescue. It was entirely up to her now.

"You should try to drink some of this water I got for you. Come on, sit up a little. It will help. I promise.”

A rather long and pathetic groan was the only response she would get. She dipped her fingers in the water and touched them to his lips.

Hannibal let out a breathy sigh. Her touch felt like melting ice. When she withdrew he sucked at the moisture.

“You must be thirsty. Just a little. Please.”

Putting her shoulder into it she propped him up and brought the glass to his lips. Coaxing him further he took a tentative sip as she tipped the glass towards him.

“A little more, that’s it.”

Coolness spread through his chest as he swallowed, soothing his throat, but ending heavily in the pit of an empty stomach. The first sip brought the realization of thirst and soon Hannibal was fumbling at the glass tipping it back until water ran down each side of his chin.

Abby still held on for fear he might drop glass. She pulled it away when she felt he’d had enough.

Hannibal gasped, his thirst overpowering the need to breathe. His eyes were open now and for a moment Abigail thought she saw recognition in them. He blinked up at her, still panting.

“If you keep that down you can have more,” She said.

Hannibal’s gaze drifted to the water and back to Abigail, the edges of her blurring into the dark. His awareness was phasing in and out, the air in the room pulsing like radio waves.

“Abby…” The words were rough around the edges. “…how long?”

Abby shifted, taking this attempt at communication as a good sign.

“I don’t know.  It was yesterday afternoon that I found you like this. I think it’s going on 24 hours now.”

Hannibal squeezed her hand, “You should rest.”

“Me? I should rest?” She actually laughed. “You’re delirious.”

“I’m fine. “

“To hell you are.”

“Abby…”

She blamed it entirely on her own exhaustion when hot tears began to spill down her face. Hannibal looked up at her and touched her cheek.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I was really worried ok,” she said embarrassed by the tears. “And you’re fever is still too high. I’m not leaving you--”

The sound of Abby’s phone cut through both of them like a knife. Her heart beat its way into her throat as she scrambled to answer it.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Hannibal felt as if his world was fading in and out of exsistance. He struggled to hold onto tangible things like the cool of the hardwood floor or the white noise of the box fan in the window. He listened to Abby, her voice like a radio left on in a back room, the volume turned low. He couldn't quite gauge where she was but he hoped she would come back. He needed her to come back.

He didn't dare move or open his eyes. Keeping them shut held the nausea at bay. It was an uneasy calm, one that Hannibal knew wouldn't last. His anxiety had already begun to build back up and restlessness buzzed along his arms to his fingertips.

The water in his stomach gurgled uncomfortably. 

He tried to guide his mind to other things. Abby's voice pulled memories up to the surface and he watched them like flashbacks. Dark scenes of their first few nights together when he had held her until the shaking stopped or until she cried herself to sleep, which ever came first. These gave way to brighter memories, nights spent in front of the fireplace reading together. 

He always let her pick the book. Once, she had wandered through the endless expanse of his library eyeing priceless first editions and handling them with a quiet reverance. Now, there was only a meager collection to sift through picked up at drug stores and thrift shops. She seemed to enjoy them just the same when he would read aloud. Abby would curl up under a blanket and listen, sometimes closing her eyes, sometimes drifting to sleep as his words echoed in the quiet. 

Those were the times she seemed peaceful. Hannibal liked to to think those were the times she seemed happy, content with the world he had created for them. 

Pain shot through his gut. He curled in on himself gripping his stomach. Nausea washed over him and prickly heat swelled in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on keeping still. 

The soft pad of bare feet on the wood floor reverberated in his ears. Abby was at his side. Fingers carded through his hair and came to rest cool against his cheek. He leaned into her touch. 

“Will should be here soon,” she said sitting down beside him. "He told me to make sure you keep hydrated. And that you shouldn't be sleeping on the floor like a dog."

Hannibal was too nauseated to form a response. Instead he swallowed thickly.

"I told him that you _like_ sleeping on the floor like a dog and that there's nothing I can do about it." She hovered over him, fiddling with blanket, making sure he was properly covered.

"Will..." Hannibal swallowed against the lump in his throat. It hurt to talk. The movement was too much and he felt his guts shifting. Abby shushed him with a hand on his back.

"He sounded worried about you," she said. "I'm worried about you too."

She patted him on the back and the water started coming up. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The first heave brought only a dribble, more saliva then anything else. He caught it in his hands as Abby scrambled to find something for him to be sick in. 

Before either of them could react, Hannibal retched. His stomach muscles convulsed as a fountain of putrid water was forced up his throat. It splattered onto his hands and cascaded over them onto the floor.  
Abby returned to his side with a plastic grocery bag to catch the rest. A series of heaves had him burying his face in the bag. Abby tried her best to soothe him, her hand steady at his back. The bag drooped in his hands weighted down with sick.

"Sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have forced you to drink the water."

Hannibal coughed. His throat felt like he had swallowed shards of glass. He spit into the bag trying to rid his mouth of the lingering stomach acid. 

"Abby," he managed, "remember what we talked about...about saying sorry..."

Abby sighed. "This is different. I made you worse."

"You don't owe me any apologies," Hannibal said swallowing thickly between the words.

"I'm trying ok, I just--"

Abby was silenced as Hannibal dry heaved again, his back twisting into a painful arch. He literally tried to shake it off which only resulted in him feeling dizzy. Propped up on one arm he closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the urge to gag.

"This isn't your fault" he said still breathing heavy.

"I know, I just...I don't know what to say...or how to help."

She took the bag from him and tied the handles in a knot trapping it's viscous contents inside. Hannibal let out a low moan. To make matters worse he was sitting in a puddle of rapidly cooling sick and had absolutely no motivation to move. 

Abby returned to him with a towel and started mopping up the mess. She took his hand in hers and cleaned the vomit from between his fingers. He stared up at her and watched as she fussed over him.

"The world owes you an apology Abigail, not the other way around."

Abby stopped for a moment, holding his hand in both of hers. He was shaking. 

"You know, you can be sweet when you want to be," she said wiping the vomit from his chin. "Don't worry, I won't let your secret out."

Another towel stolen from the kitchen counter finished the job. Hannibal started to give in to the exhaustion that was washing over him. His head nodded, eyes fluttering at the lure of sleep. 

"I think...I need to rest..." his voice was nearly shredded.

"I know you do," Abby said, still fussing over him. "Here, close your eyes and I will watch over you, until Will comes."

His shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably, soaked with watery vomit. The floor felt harder now but he certainly wasn't going to attempt to move elsewhere. A different blanket was pulled from the couch and replaced the one he had thrown up on. Abby scooted closer and let him rest his head across her lap.

"It's alright now," she cooed, "just sleep." 

Time passed the way it does in sickness, minutes elongating themselves into hours. When he was awake he was only aware of the churning sour ache in his stomach, and when he drifted to sleep he was aware of nothing. Abby’s touch barely kept him grounded in the short spaces in between the nothing.

He awoke fully to find himself throwing up again, barely aware of it happening this time. 

“It’s ok, just try to breathe.”

Burning stomach acid choked him. He coughed into the mess. Abby was patting him on the back as he gasped for air. A soft cloth was brought to his chin and wiped the sick from his mouth. Wearily, he gazed up at her through half closed eyelids.

Above him hovered an angel, a soft halo of light surrounding her face. Her movements seemed ghostly; her touches ethereal. She placed something freezing cold against his forehead. It felt wet and held the smell of snow. 

His angel was humming, so low he could barely make it out. Words hung in the air, delicate like mist.

_“I've given all I can, it’s not enough,”_

Her tone was gentle, the pitch a little off key, but as Hannibal listened he thought he had never heard something as beautiful as Abigail singing to him.

_“For a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself,”_

She was rocking slowly, careful of her movements, all the while stroking his back, humming parts of the song when she forgot the words but remembered the melody. 

A chill ran through him and Hannibal shivered. The ice was melting rapidly, trickles of warmed water running down the sides of his face. When it stopped helping altogether she removed it, placing her hand there instead.

“You’re still too warm,” she said, emotion welling up in her voice. “Much too warm.”

As if to prove her wrong Hannibal shivered. She tucked the blanket tighter around him and he sighed, a puff of warm breath against her leg.

“Abby?” his voice was muffled by the blanket pulled up around his neck. 

Abby leaned in closer to hear him. “Do you need to throw up again?”

There was a pause and Abigail worried that perhaps she should take his silence as a yes.

His tone was that of a broken man, pleading. “Please...keep singing to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer decided it was time to die so this chapter was written and edited entirely on my phone and tablet and let me just tell you I do not wish that kind of supreme frustration and torture upon any writer. I'm certain that is one of dante's levels of hell. 
> 
> The song Abigail sings at the end, after much deliberation, is [ radiohead's karma police ](https://g.co/kgs/J3NEaQ). I had a few others in mind but besides the fact that this is all happening to Hannibal and he has certainly racked up his fair share of bad karma, I think that the song also lent itself really well to being a lullaby of sorts.


End file.
